‘When I was growing up, we had a dog, Bruno. I thought everyone could chat to him. You know, when people come home and the dog brings a toy – “Hey, Bruno. Is that toy for me? It is? Wow, thanks!” And I would wonder why they weren’t responding to what he was saying, because whenever I said, “Hey, Bruno!” I could hear him saying, “This duck needs a wash.” So I did whatever he asked, and he loved that, because no one else ever actually listened to him. We were best mates. I was ten and he was a Terrier-Lurcher-God knows what – we didn’t have deep conversations. I didn’t realize it wasn’t normal until my dad told me off for making things up. But I loved that dog. He was my best mate.’

Tara smiled, but David wasn’t smiling; she already knew – and she knew he knew – that he was skirting around the painful part of the story, the way clients did, padding around the sting with anecdote.

‘Anyway, you know what’s coming.’ His stare became more fixed on the bottle in front of them. ‘When I was thirteen, I was camping with the Scouts, and there was a thunderstorm. Bruno didn’t like thunderstorms. He used to hide under my bed hours before they started. Animals can sense the electricity in the air, it upsets them. Soon as I heard the first clap of thunder, I got that horrible, heavy worry, right in the pit of my stomach. I knew something was wrong. When I got home, Bruno wasn’t there. Mum was in tears, Dad was in a foul mood. Apparently Bruno sneaked upstairs to hide but Dad found him, and dragged him outside as a punishment for going upstairs. And at some point, there must have been a huge lightning flash and he ran for it.’

‘Oh no.’ Branston hated thunder too. He would try hard to be brave but couldn’t stop whimpering.

‘They couldn’t find him. They’d been out looking for hours. But I could hear Bruno’s voice in my head, begging me for help.’ David bit his lip. ‘He was terrified, and in pain. He’d broken his leg, I think, and he didn’t know where he was. He tried to tell me, showed me pictures of trees, but I couldn’t understand where he meant. I searched and searched for him, everywhere I could think of, talking to him in my head, reassuring him I was coming, even though it was almost unbearable, getting his terror and his pain coming back, but I kept going until …’ His voice cracked, and he stopped for a long second. ‘Until I couldn’t hear Bruno’s voice any more. I couldn’t hear him. He’d shut himself down. It’s what animals do, when they can’t cope with pain, or stress – they shut down. To protect themselves.’